Les Propheties
by didaticvagabond
Summary: Each prophecy he received was just as vague as the last, devoid of any use to him or those around him. They served no purpose but to show him the world's horrors. Now his only asylum from them was that poor rescued noblewoman, and he was not going to let another love slip through his fingers.


A soft, dying evening light filtered in through his study window. The words he was inking onto paper were becoming less illuminated with every stroke he made, yet he wrote in fervent, crooked lines.

 _Tears, cries, and laments, howls of terror  
_ _An inhumane heart, cruel, black, paralyzing  
_ _The white worm of the major isles of Genoa,  
_ _Bloodshed, hunger, and no mercy shown._

Michel de Nostredame dropped his quill onto the table, swatting at a stack of parchment angrily enough to send several sheets floating gently to the ground. Each prophecy he received was just as vague as the last, always devoid of any use to him or those around him. Each scrawled line of prophetic poetry on these endless papers did nothing but to show him the world's horrors. He rubbed his beard and leaned to his side in order to reach his lost predictions.

Halfway through his collection of papers, his study doors were flung open and a limp girl was half-dragged into the room. Sebastian did not hesitate to carry her to a cot, speaking as he pulled her.

"Nostradamus, this woman has been hurt. See to it that she receives proper care, quickly," Sebastian bent to pull the legs of the woman onto the cot, "I believe she was witness to a certain crime."

Sebastian stepped back as Nostradamus stepped forward, and left the room with rushed words, "I'll be back later. Francis needs to know about this."

Nostradamus placed his hands on her shoulders, allowing the girl to roll from her side and onto her back on the cot. Blood stained her dress on her lower abdomen, friction burns lined her wrists, and there were bruises in no small quantity across her freckled skin. He only paused for a moment to assess the features of her face- her small nose, her pale cheeks, and ash brown hair -before he set to work removing the gown.

His hands reached behind him to retrieve a knife and he began to cut away at her dress, careful not to hurt the unconscious girl any further as he did so. He noticed the thickness of the fabric, how it shimmered in the dying light in his fingers. The girl was certainly wealthy. His eyes glanced at the ring on her left and. The girl was also married.

The wound that was originally hidden under her gown was now revealed in her nudity. He barely even saw her body beyond the cleaning and stitching he was now completing on the knife wound. Though the cut hadn't be deep, it was wide. The sliced flesh stretched from her navel to her right hip. Whoever had done this may have meant to kill her but it seems they had missed their mark. Beyond this wound, there was only further bruising along the rest of her body, though the worst of it was along her hands, face, and neck.

He lit candles as he worked and adjusted a screen around her to ensure privacy in the event of any more sudden visitors. He dressed her in a plain robe as gently as he could and gave her further modesty by laying blankets across the cot. The girl would certainly heal and in his caring for her, he had briefly forgotten the troubles of his visions. With a sigh, Nostradamus left her side and returned to reorganizing his papers on his desk.

* * *

It was several more hours before Sebastian returned, but when he did he arrived with a tray of simple foods and a pitcher of water. He took his usual seat across from Nostradamus after inspecting the apparent health of the girl he'd brought in earlier.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Nostradamus questioned Sebastian, noting his stress and unusual quiet. Though the bastard never had much to say, in the confidence of a friend, Bash would often reveal his difficulties.

"As you know, three noble families have gone missing over the past three weeks. We found the first today- or at least what was left of them. That woman is Anne Ponsarde Gemelle, wife of Jean Baulne," Bash sighed, setting his elbows on the table and resting his face in his hands, "I just don't understand these disappearances. Now we know for certain that somebody is after nobles, but there's no note of ransom or of revenge. It seems random, pointless. We didn't even catch a single one, and they almost killed her before they got away."

Nostradamus listened to Bash, pouring two cups of wine while he did so. He drank his even as Bash did not immediately. His voice was soft as he spoke, "There are reasons for these crimes and you, as usual, will find them."

The two were quiet momentarily, and in the silence a small gasp of pain filled the gap. Sebastian stood immediately, reaching the side of the girl first, Nostradamus was close behind. He stood back, behind Bash, and watched her from a short distance. She stirred slightly before she opened her eyes, blinking them rapidly and experimentally, likely feeling the bruises that existed around one of them. It took her several moments to notice Bash standing over her, and she flinched away from him instinctively. The sharp movement caused her pain in her cut, which she now clutched with another gasp of pain.

"Lady Gemelle, please do not move. My name is Sebastian, I've brought you to the Palace of Fontainebleau for your safety. Nostradamus had helped to heal you, but your recovery will take some time. For now, I need to ask you some questions," Sebastian set to work, always pushing forward on the task at hand despite the unwillingness of Nostradamus's patients, "I need to know who took you, any reason you think they may have attacked, and any details you can possibly provide."

Lady Anne's eyes flicked to Nostradamus hovering in the background, and then back to Sebastian as he spoke. It was clear she did not feel safe yet, her reflex being to pull the blankets further over herself and she slowly shrunk under Sebastian's gaze. Her voice was as soft a murmurous as wings when she spoke, even if the dominant emotion in it was her fear, "There was only five or six men I remember.. there may have been more. Most of them were French but there was two Italians."

"What were their features? Their names?" Sebastian pressed. The girl looked a though she would cry. Nostradamus stepped away to retrieve the food and water that Sebastian had arrived with. He wanted to avoid the sadness of her face as she spoke on her assailants.

"I don't know, really," Her voice was breaking, "I mostly couldn't see anything. I think one of them was of Ascoli. I can't be sure, Sir, I'm sorry." Nostradamus reappeared as her first tears began to fall. He set the tray on a small stool near the cot, pouring a cup of water for her. She watched him with large, blue eyes, only looking away when Sebastian spoke again.

"Ascoli," He mumbled, nodding, "I think I know who may be behind this. Nostradamus, I'll return in the morning before I ride out again. Lady Gemelle, I appreciate your help. Please share more details as they come to you." Sebastian left the room, leaving Nostradamus and the girl in an uncomfortable silence.

Bash always did this to him, brought in traumatized people of all ranges of injury and then left him there to deal with the aftermath of their terrors. At least Nostradamus had experience with these people now. He didn't touch her, just sat on the ground and offered the cup he'd just poured for her.

"Water," His voice was the most gentle form of commanding. She took the cup from him and drank several cautious sips. He watched her closely, though his gaze was not as demanding as Sebastian's had been, "And food." He pushed the entire stool in order to bring the tray of meats and vegetables closer to her. There was a hesitation in her eyes for only a moment before she began to eat quickly. He'd noticed earlier the gaunt points of her ribs and hips when he had bandaged her. Though she was likely naturally a thin girl, there had certainly been a lack of nourishment throughout her capture.

The plate was only half-finished when she stopped eating, her stomach was likely much more easily full than the days when she had eaten regularly. She reached for the water herself again and sipped more as Nostradamus stood. He disappeared behind the screen briefly and returned with a small vial, setting it on the tray next to her food and drink.

"This will relieve your pain and help you sleep through the night." Nostradamus blew out several candles nearest her, dimming the area around her cot. The girl picked up the vial immediately, though he did not hover to watch her drink it, and instead retreated back to sitting at his desk. He would remain in the room for a few hours to ensure her health before retiring to his connecting beds.

As he flipped through his papers, still handling the task of organizing them, he could hear her slow and soft breath as she slipped into sleep. Hopefully the poor girl would only dream of better days.


End file.
